


Stretching out a hand to you

by GwenChan



Series: FrUKweek2016 [4]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, Drowning, Dunkerque, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 14:27:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7536385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwenChan/pseuds/GwenChan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>WW2!AU. Dunkerque. Lieutenant Kirkland is about to drow. Luckily there's a French fisherman passing by.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stretching out a hand to you

**Stretching out a hand to you**

 

 _Water filled his lugs_.

Arthur had never been a good swimmer, no matter how much he loved the sea.

Salt burnt his throat and eyes, while waves pushed him around as they pleased, before closing above his head.

Then, suddenly, something came down to grab the collar of his uniform, pulling him again to the surface and Arthur slid into oblivion, while all around him Dunkirk was turning into a nightmare.

He recovered his senses on a fishing boat, vomiting water, a pair of unknown hands pressing on his chest, and managed to open his eyes, albeit crusted with salt.

“Am I dead?”

“It would be a pity,” his saviour answered. He had sun light hair held in a small ponytail, a tanned face and he spoke a bad English.

“Francis,” he introduced himself.

“Arthur. What is a civil doing in this bloody mess?”

“The British Navy is short of ships. I’m kind of helping.”

Arthur was about to answer, but a new nausea forced him to bend over the fishing vessel side. He swept his lips with his sleeve and turned around, wondering what to do. To go back to the ships would’ve been a suicide, at least at that moment.

“Is this tub resistant?”

“My Jeanne is not a tub. You wouldn’t find a more reliable and stronger boat in all France” Francis protested, patting the ship as for consoling her.

“Good,” Arthur got up “I hope you don’t mind if I borrow her,” he concluded, pushing the other aside and taking the wheel. The boat did half turn on herself, till having her bow pointing North. Before Francis could understanding what was happening, Arthur added: “You’d better dive now if you don’t want to come with be, because I’ve no intention to go back.”

“I think I’ll come with you. For now, at least,” Francis decided, speaking in a sad voice, facing the stern, watching the coast getting farer and farer.

 

“I’ve never thanked you for saving me,” Francis whispered an afternoon, many years later.

Arthur put down his book and his cup of tea. Outside the window it was raining, the usual Atlantic weather. Calais was grey.

“What are you bloody blabbering about, _frog_? If I recall well – and I wish I do not – you were the one preventing me from drowning.”

“My dear Arthur, if you would’ve not stolen my boat.”

“Borrowed,” Arthur corrected.

“And kidnapped me,” Francis continued as he hadn’t been interrupted.

“I’ve never kidnapped you.”  
“I would have found myself stuck there, with no hope for helping my country. You gave me a way out,” Francis concluded his explanation. He spoke in a quiet voice; then he got up and left a light kiss on Arthur forehead.

 

Merci.

****


End file.
